


I Know the Reason

by skidmo



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skidmo/pseuds/skidmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SGA/Torchwood crossover.  Lorne meets someone who reminds him a little too much of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know the Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes inspiration just strikes. Also, I keep bugging other people to write Lorne/Jack, so I felt like I should give it a try myself. Title is from a [Carbon Leaf song](http://www.lyricstime.com/carbon-leaf-i-know-the-reason-lyrics.html).

He’s in London on leave, and it’s his first time in the UK. It’s his first time for a lot of things. It’s his first time being flirted with over a pint of Newcastle Brown. It’s his first time watching someone do unspeakable things to shepherd’s pie. (Shepherd’s pie, of all things.) It’s his first time listening to a story that seems to involve too many limbs and several things Lorne is almost sure are actually physically impossible.

And it is definitely, _definitely_ his first time being picked up in a pub across from the British Museum by a guy wearing red suspenders.

But this guy’s been eyeing him all night, he tells impossible stories, and he’s had his hand on Lorne’s thigh for the last half hour.

So when the bartender rings the bell for last call and the man leans in and whispers, “I’ve got a hotel room three blocks from here,” Lorne doesn’t let himself care that he still doesn’t know this guy’s name or that he promised himself he wouldn’t do this anymore.

When they walk to the hotel, the man, who’s wearing a coat bigger than any Lorne’s ever seen, slides his hand into Lorne’s back pocket, and Lorne, who’s had more than just the one pint, leans into him more than a little. He lets himself get dragged into an alley for a quick make out session ( _Snog_ , Lorne tells himself. _They call it a snog_.), and he manages to whisper, “I don’t know your name.”

 _“Does it matter?” the man says as he pulls Lorne fully against him, and Lorne thinks, _No. No, it doesn’t.__

But he still says, “I want to know what to yell when you’re fucking me,” and that earns him a growl and a deep, hard kiss.

“Jack…call me Jack.”

“Jack,” Lorne whispers, and his fingers trace patterns over Jack’s face, and he doesn’t care that Jack is probably not his real name.

“Your fingers are cold,” Jack whispers back. “Let’s get you inside.”

Jack’s hand slips back into his pocket and Lorne returns the favor, concentrating on not stumbling as Jack leads him up the stairs into his hotel. The elevator ( _lift_ ) is deserted, and Lorne pushes Jack against the wall, dragging his suspenders ( _braces_ ) off his shoulders and down his arms. He’s just getting into a really good snog, when the lift stops, and Jack takes his hand and pulls him down the hallway to his room.

When they get inside, Lorne expects something quick and dirty, but Jack shrugs off his coat and tugs Lorne out to the balcony. He wraps his arms around Lorne’s waist and stares up at the stars for a long moment.

Lorne doesn’t like to look at the stars on Earth. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been there, it always makes him miss Atlantis.

“What do you think when you look at them?” Jack whispers, and Lorne’s eyes close at the warmth of Jack’s breath on his ear.

“Space,” Lorne says, leaning his head back onto Jack’s shoulder and facing the empty void between here and Pegasus. “I think about space and emptiness…darkness. I think about how far I am from home.”

“So do I,” Jack whispers, almost too quietly for Lorne to hear. “Space…distance…it’s so far away, really. Home.”

Lorne turns in Jack’s arms and looks at his face, and he can see it in Jack’s eyes. That longing for home. That knowledge of just how far away he is. But it’s not as desperate as Lorne is used to seeing. It’s resigned, like Jack has found something to replace it. Almost.

And Lorne doesn’t want to know that anything could ever replace Atlantis, so he kisses Jack hard and pushes him back into the room and onto the bed. He straddles Jack’s hips and pulls his shirt over his head, giving Jack a moment to run his hands over Lorne’s smooth skin, his hard muscles rippling beneath it. He lets Jack drink in the sight he knows he makes (PT, if nothing else, keeps his body in excellent condition), reveling in the appreciation he sees in Jack’s eyes. This is what he always gets off on in these encounters. Knowing he’s wanted, needed even.

But there’s more in Jack’s eyes (Lorne thinks, _There’ll always be more with him. Always more than I expect._ ), and Lorne can’t stand that flicker of understanding, so he bends down to attack Jack’s neck with tongue and lips and teeth as he rushes through unbuttoning Jack’s shirt and pulling it off.

And there’s still another shirt. Still another layer Lorne has to get through to get what he wants, and what he wants is Jack. Just Jack, no layers, no knowing looks, no conversations about stars.

And Jack surprises him yet again. He rolls them over, pushing Lorne gently onto his back and pulls his undershirt off quickly, taking Lorne’s hands and placing them on his belt. “Well,” he says, all playful smile and no hint of his earlier seriousness, “get on with it.”

Lorne grins and unbuckles Jack’s belt and undoes his trousers ( _trousers, not pants_ is one Lorne already knows). He can’t help wanting to ask what sort of man wears a great coat and braces and work boots to a pub, but instead he slides his hand into Jack’s shorts and wraps his hand around Jack’s dick, tugging it firmly and smiling as he feels it filling in his hand.

Jack brushes his hand away and stands at the end of the bed, turning around as he bends to untie his boots. Lorne takes in the view, appreciating the curve of Jack’s ass ( _arse?_ Lorne’s not sure on that one), which he knows is what Jack wants. Jack hooks his thumbs into his trousers, still with his back to Lorne and wiggles out of his trousers and shorts in one smooth movement, smiling over his shoulder at Lorne as he does.

He turns to look at Lorne, and Lorne can tell from Jack’s pleased grin that the look on his face is one of naked hunger, and he thinks that they have so much more in common than he ever would have guessed.

Lorne kicks off his shoes as Jack crawls slowly up his body, planting random kisses as he goes, and Jack peels off Lorne’s trousers and his underwear, kneeling over him and whispering, “I knew you’d be beautiful naked.”

“Stop talking,” Lorne growls, pulling Jack in for a bruising kiss.

Jack laughs against his lips. “That’s one thing I never do.”

But he seems to cut down on the banter after that, putting his mouth to work in other ways, kissing Lorne’s chest and stomach and hips and thighs, and skirting around Lorne’s cock until Lorne says, “Fuck…Jack, touch me,” in a voice that’s rough and desperate.

“Touch you?” It’s not a tone of voice Lorne hears often in the bedroom. It’s teasing and affectionate, and it makes Lorne wonder what he’s signed himself up for. “Like this?” Jack runs one finger slowly up Lorne’s cock in a feather-light touch that makes him growl in frustration. “Not like that then,” Jack says with a laugh and wraps his hand ( _Christ, it’s huge._ ) around Lorne’s dick, stroking him in a slow, steady rhythm.

This is what he wants. This is what he always wants. Get in, get off, get out.

But it isn’t enough. Not this time. Not with Jack. Something about Jack makes Lorne want to know what it’s like to give himself up to Jack’s control. So he pushes Jack’s hand away and mutters, “Fuck me. Jack, please fuck me.”

And Lorne _doesn’t_ beg.

And Jack…Jack knows him too well, and Lorne has no idea how. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Lorne doesn’t ask him to elaborate, because he knows what Jack means, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

Jack stands and rummages around in his trousers until he finds a small tube and a little foil packet, and Lorne is not at all surprised to find that Jack keeps lube and condoms in his pocket.

“Turn over,” Jack whispers, and Lorne wants to thank him this time, for letting him turn away, for not making him look into Jack’s eyes when they do this. He doesn’t want to know what he’d see there. He’s afraid it would be like looking into a mirror.

He turns onto his hands and knees and closes his eyes as he feels Jack’s cool, slick finger pressing into him. He bites back a groan, but he can’t keep himself from pushing back towards Jack’s hand, and for the first time ( _so many first times tonight_ ) when Jack laughs, clearly pleased with himself, Lorne appreciates their similarities instead of resenting them, but when Jack slides another finger into him, he stops thinking all together, and it becomes a haze of burn and pleasure and want until Jack removes his fingers, and Lorne dimly hears the rip of the condom packet and feels Jack’s hands on his hips and that too big, too hot, too hard press of Jack’s cock, slowly sliding into him.

And he gives up. He lowers his head onto his arms and lets Jack do whatever he wants to him. This is the thing he never does. This is the thing he’s given up to have a home like Atlantis, to do something important, something amazing with his life. He’s given up his right to choose whom to give control to. He’s given up his right to love whom he wants, fuck whom he wants, be fucked by whomever he damn well wants.

And it’s worth it. So fucking worth it, but he needs this, needs Jack right now to show him what he’s given up so he can stop thinking that maybe it isn’t.

Jack is saying something, and Lorne knows it’s something about how beautiful he looks like this, how hot he is, how tight his ass is, how much Jack wants him, but he’s not listening. He’s not thinking of anything at all except how completely Jack is filling him and how fucking amazing it feels when Jack reaches around him and wraps that enormous hand around his cock.

And Lorne’s let himself go completely at this point, and, true to his word, he shouts Jack’s name as he comes in Jack’s hand, hard enough that he’s not even aware of Jack thrusting hard and deep into him until he reaches his own completion, or of falling forward with Jack on his back, a boneless, heaving, sweating heap.

Lorne knows, without either of them saying anything, that another first this night will be that he stays. Jack won’t ask him to leave, and he won’t leave on his own. This is, for lack of a better phrase, the bed that he’s made for himself, and he’s not going to abandon it.

Jack rolls onto his side and pulls Lorne back against him, spooning him and kissing his shoulder.

Lorne has told himself not to ask any of the questions rolling around in his head. Especially not, “Why me?” which is a question he’s never even thought before, but can’t seem to stop himself from asking.

He expects Jack to laugh, but instead he runs the tip of his nose along Lorne’s hairline and says, “Because you understand. Because you believed my stories. Because we’re both farther away from home than anyone else we know. Because when you look at the stars you see the emptiness too.”

***

They fuck again in the morning, though Lorne is hesitant to use that word for what they do. He thinks Jack may have damned him. He thinks he may never again be satisfied with a one-night stand.

But Jack insists on accompanying him to the airport and on kissing him, right there, out in public in Heathrow, and Lorne can’t help looking around for anyone in uniform, and Jack laughs at him again.

“You’ll get over it, Evan. And if you lose your job, you can come work for me.” He just laughs harder when Lorne says that that’s not much of a comfort.

And then Lorne kisses him, and Jack’s eyes widen in surprise, and it’s Lorne’s turn to laugh, but his face turns serious, and he cups Jack’s cheek in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’ve found to replace it,” he whispers, “but whatever it is, it must be really fucking amazing.”

Jack looks like he wants to argue, but then he grins. “It is. They are.”

***

He doesn’t see Jack again, except that he does, once, in a universe he himself helps keep from existing.

It’s a good twenty years later, and Lorne is in D.C. presenting a progress report to the I.O.A. He’s walking back to his hotel from the Vietnam War Memorial (seeing his dad’s name there never gets any easier) when he sees the swirl of a great coat disappear into a nearby bar.

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he follows, and somehow he’s not at all surprised to see Jack sitting in a corner booth looking not a day older. He slides in across from him and looks at him for a moment without speaking.

“Hello, Jack,” he finally says.

“Hello, Evan,” Jack says softly. “It’s been a long time.”

“You’d never guess to look at you.”

Jack grins. “You’ve aged extremely well,” and there’s a familiar twinkle in his eye. One that Lorne hasn’t seen in many, many years.

“You really will fuck anything, won’t you?”

“I happen to know you’re worth it.”

Lorne chuckles, and there’s a pause while the waitress comes over and takes their orders. Jack insists on buying him a drink, and Lorne reluctantly allows it, knowing it’s no use arguing with him.

“You’re a general now,” Jack says when their drinks arrive.

“Am I?” Lorne asks, face completely straight. “That must be what that big ceremony was all about.”

“I’ve always wanted to bed a general.”

That brings a smirk to Lorne’s face. “I’m sure I wouldn’t be your first.”

“Does that bother you?” And there’s that note in Jack’s voice. Too concerned, too understanding.

“Not with you.”

They don’t talk much, and Lorne can’t help but wonder what happened to Jack to bring that about. He doesn’t ask about Jack’s age. There’s too much he can’t talk about for him to ask questions he thinks Jack won’t be able to answer.

Jack walks back to his hotel with him, and though they keep their hands out of each other’s pockets, Jack does place a hand on the small of Lorne’s back as they enter the lift ( _elevator_ ).

Lorne pours Jack scotch from the bar in his suite, and they sit on the balcony until the sun goes down and Jack stares up into the sky.

“What do you think when you look at them?”

Lorne swirls his scotch around and takes a long drink before answering. “I think that I must have failed somewhere along the way. I think of how I’ll never go home. I think of too many people that I’ve lost.”

“So do I,” Jack whispers. “So do I.” And he stands and holds out a hand to Lorne, and Lorne takes it and lets Jack lead him to the bedroom and lower him slowly onto the bed.

It isn’t anything at all like their first time. Lorne can feel the aches in his joints that never seem to go away, and Jack is much more gentle this time, and Lorne looks into his eyes, and it _is_ like looking into a mirror, one that shows the man he used to be.

Jack stays. And Lorne accompanies him to the airport the next day. They embrace, and Jack says, “I wish you could find something to replace it.”

Lorne shakes his head, because nothing will ever replace Atlantis, but he won’t have to live with the pain of that as long as Jack will.

***

When McKay comes to him with his ridiculous plan for fixing things, for saving Atlantis and bringing Sheppard back, Lorne agrees to help because he knows that the only thing that will replace Atlantis for him is Atlantis herself.

And the only thing that gives him pause is that he knows he won’t ever have seen Jack again, not really.

He waits for the end on his roof, scotch in hand, staring up at the stars.

 _fin_


End file.
